Forward love story

Kimberley's POV

Being an orphan wasn't the worst thing in the world. Well, maybe it was, but when you had a best friend like Nina Mather, it at least came with a side of chaos.

We weren't just orphans, we were menaces. The Sisterhood at St. Agnes Orphanage had tried everything to discipline us. Prayers? Didn't work. Locking us in the library? Just made us smarter troublemakers. Extra chores? We'd find a way to make them fun, like turning laundry duty into a soap-slide contest.

And the neighborhood? Oh, they hated us.

Take Mr. Donovan, for example. Evil incarnate in the form of an old man with a bald head that shined like a freshly waxed floor. He ran a grocery store nearby and was always yelling at us for "stealing air" when we stood too long outside his shop. So, of course, Nina and I took it as a personal mission to irritate him.

Like last week.

I had the brilliant idea to fill a brown paper bag with rotten eggs and leave it in front of his door. Nina, being the daring idiot she was, lit it on fire and rang the bell. We ran so fast, but we still heard his furious scream as he stomped on it, the nasty smell exploding all over his shoes.

We didn't stop there. There was also Mrs. Thompson, who reported us to Sister Margaret every week for "harassing her poor dog." In our defense, her dog started it. It barked at us every time we passed, so we may have... barked back. Loudly. Maybe we also howled at 3 AM just outside her window for fun.

What can I say? We were creative.

But it wasn't all fun and games. Surviving as an orphan meant hustling.

By the time I turned nineteen, I had mastered the art of survival. I printed flyers for local businesses mostly sketchy ones, like "Lose 30 Pounds in 3 Days" or "Palm Readings by Madame Zelda" (a woman who I swore just Googled horoscopes before each session).

I hustled hard, handing out at least 200 flyers a day and earning just enough to afford food that wasn't the orphanage's cardboard-like bread. Nina sometimes helped, but mostly, she spent her days dreaming about marrying a rich old man so we'd never have to work again.

But life wasn't all harmless trouble and street hustling. Because that's the thing about growing up poor in a dangerous city eventually, trouble finds you before you can find it.

It happened fast.

One minute, I was walking home, thinking about the leftover sandwich I had saved from lunch. The next, a black van screeched to a stop beside me, and before I could run, a rough hand yanked me inside.

Panic. Heart racing. A sack over my head. The scent of sweat and cheap cologne suffocating me.

"Keep quiet, girl," a gruff voice warned. "You just made the wrong people mad."

My mind raced. Which wrong people? Mr. Donovan? No, he wouldn't kidnap me over rotten eggs... would he?

They drove for what felt like hours before dragging me into a warehouse. When they finally pulled off the sack, I was face-to-face with a man who looked like a bloated frog in a bad suit.

"You've been interfering in our business," he sneered.

I blinked. "I pass out flyers. Unless you own the Lose 30 Pounds in 3 Days scam, I don't know you."

Wrong answer. Frog-Man slapped me across the face.

I saw stars, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of fear.

I had two options:

1. Sit and wait for death.

2. Be the crazy girl they regret kidnapping.

Naturally, I chose Option Two.

So, I started screaming. Not normal screaming insane, high-pitched banshee wailing.

"OH MY GOD, I'M ALLERGIC TO CRIMINALS! I'M GONNA DIEEEE!"

The men exchanged panicked glances. One even took a step back.

Then, I upped my game. I started convulsing, eyes rolling back dramatically. "IT'S HAPPENING! I CAN SEE THE LIGHT!"

"Shit, is she having a seizure?" one of them asked.

"I...I don't know!"

They were freaking out now. Idiots.

The moment one of them bent down to "help" me, I grabbed a nearby chair and slammed it into his face. He crumpled instantly. The other guys weren't fast enough.

I kicked one in the groin, grabbed a metal pole, and smashed the warehouse window open.

Then I ran.

I sprinted through dark alleyways, barefoot, heart hammering. My body ached, my head was spinning, but I couldn't stop.

And then BAM.

A blinding light. A deafening screech of tires.

Pain.

The impact sent me flying onto the hard pavement. Everything blurred, but I heard voices. Male voices.

"Holy shit, man, I think you killed her."

"No, no, she's still breathing. Right?"

I tried to move but groaned in pain. My entire body felt like I'd just lost a fight with a cement truck.

Then I saw him.

Or rather, his blurry, stupidly handsome face.

Messy brownish-blond hair, piercing golden-brown eyes, and a strong jawline that looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves.

He was crouched next to me, staring like he didn't just commit a hit-and-run.

"Shit," he muttered. "She's hot."

I blacked out.

When I woke up, I was in a ridiculously fancy bedroom that smelled like expensive cologne and bad decisions.

The idiot from the car accident sat across from me, looking too casual for someone who nearly killed me.

"You alive?" he asked, smirking.

I glared at him. "No. You killed me. This is my ghost haunting your ugly ass."

He snorted. "If you're well enough to insult me, you're fine."

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through me. "Where the hell am I?"

"My house," he said, lazily leaning back. "I figured after hitting you, the least I could do was make sure you weren't dead. My best friend Talon wanted to dump you at a hospital, but I thought, 'Why not take her home?'"

"Oh wow. How romantic," I said dryly. "Almost dying because of a rich drunk guy is every girl's dream."

He grinned, clearly enjoying my sarcasm.

"Well, you're here now, sweetheart. And I don't like people owing me." His golden eyes glinted mischievously. "So, let's just say... you're mine until your debt is paid."

I stared at him, horrified.

Oh, hell no.